Thursday, 21 May 2015

I have always been a strange and unusual voice amongst the head
teacher fraternity (no, I do not expected you to have swooned from
surprise). There are those who decry it
the most difficult job to do, and those who say it’s the best in the
world. I veer somewhere between these
two standpoints, claiming humbly that I am extremely lucky to do a job I
thoroughly enjoy and pay some kind of service in the performing of it.

I often lecture people when I am asked what’s the difference
between being a teacher and a head (which is never) that I think it is quite
simple: when you’re a teacher, and a good one, you secure hundreds of little
victories on a daily basis that warm your soul – you know the kind of thing; a
child conquering a barrier, a brilliant lesson coming off, a colleague
commenting on your displays. When you’re
a head, the victories come along far less often, but when they do, they are
huge. In both cases, you need to learn
to ride the wave, because if you care about your job and what you do, there
will almost always be hard times around the corner, and you need to store up
the victories, camel-like, to see you through the negative winters.

Many of my victories as a head will come as no surprise:
outcomes, improvements and the successful culmination of large scale projects
always put a spring in the step. Good
inset days and staff meetings, and, as I’ve blogged before, the forging of a
strong team. It may seem odd, but I take
not a little victory from our staff being snapped up by other schools and
settings – is that not, after all, an extremely tall compliment?

But, do you know, I also take enormous personal victories
out of the seemingly obvious, and it is only as I’ve got a little older, a bit
fatter and a whole lot balder that I’ve come to appreciate it. Because here’s the big secret, the real game changer, the greatest victory: every so
often, almost without noticing, several things you set in motion a thousand
years ago suddenly click and – boom! You have something epic on your
hands.

It happens seldom, and I am in no way so arrogant to think
it is all my doing. However, I hope I
was in some way a little instrumental in setting some of these things into
motion. The first head I worked for once
told us “You all know when you do a good lesson, you get that warm feeling” and
he was right. It’s the same as a head,
only that warm feeling comes along once in a blue lunar cycle, and it gives you
a glow that would make ready-brek seem frosty.

It happened to me last night. It was after school, and we were preparing
for the full governing body. Yet despite
the fact that it was long gone 4.00 and school long finished, it buzzed with a
vibrancy and activity redolent of 10.00 on a Tuesday morning. Having delivered my governors stuff to the allotted
room and snaffled a biscuit (you always get decent quality at governors) I
needed to wander, to see what this pulsating energy was and where it was emanating
from, praying it wasn’t the boiler, again.

No, it was nothing to do with any of the nuts and
bolts. Far from it. In one hall, 6 of our oldest children were
enjoying (I use that word loosely) the pains of the boot camp regime at the
start of their boxing club. The music
pounded from the system as our learning mentor / boxing coach encouraged our
charges to go for “ten more seconds, come on!” in one of the most uncomfortable
positions imaginable. They lasted. They crumbled. The groaned.
Then the solitary girl in the pack looked up at me and smiled.

As I walked out from one building to the other, a legion of
three foot high warriors had stormed the playground, all clad in visors and
protective armour and wielding swords.
Momentarily, I feared world domination by a group of stealth minion .
oompah loompah style ninjas, only to realise it was the key stage 1 multi sports
group enjoying their fencing lesson. The
coach put one gladiator through his paces, then stepped back as he faced up to
a year one girl, missed his time to thrust and lost the point with a sword to
the guts, blood splattering the tarmac and entrails oozing … okay, too
far. Soz, LOL.

From around the corner, on the way to the other hall came
some of our previous inmates, splendidly replete in their new secondary uniforms,
collecting things from all around the site.
When I say things, I mean teddies, for they were gathering in the protagonists
of the teddy bears picnic organised by our outstanding BoBs team. In the hall itself, 50+ children were
enjoying picnic treats and stories, joined by younger siblings, and having a
ball. Yet another triumphant event for
our brilliant buddies who never cease to take things to the next level.

As I walked back to governors, feeling the starting salvos
of the afore mentioned warm glow, it was further stoked and fuelled by the
conversations I overheard in classrooms; colleagues working together on trips
and displays, friends helping each other meet the (twenty minutes previously
elapsed) deadline for data submission, and just adding greater weight to the
meaning of a real team. As I headed into
the governors’ meeting room I thought I had seen it all but I was stopped by a
gran I know well. “Have you seen him?”
she enquired.

“No, I haven’t I’m afraid.” I wracked my brains; too old for
teddy bears and key stage 1, and not the boxing type, I hadn’t seen him at
all. Gran sensed my confusion.

“He’s at knitting club.” Knitting club. How could I forget them? I sent gran down to the library for the end
of knitting club, only to see them strolling up the corridor together as a
group to meet gran halfway, one of our year 6 girls carrying the box full of
knitting club gear, and one of our year 6 boys covered in wool like a naughty kitten.

Governors went well, thanks for asking. Long, but well; we got the chance to talk
about some massive things: assessment, nursery provision, the budget, and an
amazing potential vision for the future.
We also tackled some of the tougher issues out there: domestic violence awareness
education for key stage 2 – should we place it on the SIP? Dealing with staff conduct. Almost three hours, but a thoroughly good and
packed meeting focussing on what it so special about our school and where we
are heading, and – isn’t this what it’s all about – who we want to be.

I drove home last night thinking three things:

11. I’m later than I told the babysitter – she’ll be
cross.

22. What’s for tea?

33. Sometimes, I am so lucky to do the job I
do. Another little victory. Thank you.

About Me

I am from Birmingham and married to Sue. We have two drains on our disposable income, called Ruben and Thea, who regret to inform us that they intend to resent our existence for the next 15 years or so, give or take. We live in Yatton, where we have lots of friends, and where we have a million barbeques a year. I play badminton, but try not to run or win, and support the greatest team in the universe - Aston Villa FC, as well as loving a bit of rugby, cricket, golf, tennis, ...